


Exit Light, Enter Night, Take My Hand

by Dragonbat



Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:51:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonbat/pseuds/Dragonbat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stranded under a red sun, Batman and Superman must brave the elements to survive, but Bruce is keeping a secret that may endanger them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exit Light, Enter Night, Take My Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darke_wulf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darke_wulf/gifts).



> Disclaimer: Justice League and all related characters and elements are the property of DC comics. I am receiving no financial remuneration for this work of fanfiction, but a donation was made to Hurricane Sandy relief in exchange for my writing it.
> 
> Canon: DCAU
> 
> Timeline: Justice League, Season 2, at some point after "Only a Dream."
> 
> Spoilers: Justice League episodes "Secret Origins," "Injustice for All," and "Only a Dream." BTAS episode "The Strange Secret of Bruce Wayne."
> 
> A/N: Thanks to Aiyokusama, Kathy, Debbie and PJ for the beta. Thanks to Gina Ivy and Aiyokusama for help with hypothermia treatment. The story title comes from the song "Enter Sandman," written by Kirk Hammett, James Hetfield, and Lars Ulrich. Recorded by Metallica on Metallica aka The Black Album (Elektra, 1991).

**Exit Light, Enter Night, Take My Hand**

_Now_

How in the _hell_ , Clark wondered again, as he looked out through the cave entrance at a crimson sun, had Luthor gotten his hands on Boom Tube technology, much less figured out how to use it? And how in the name of Rao were they going to get back to Earth? 

Bruce had said something earlier about possibly finding a way to send out a distress call, but they’d have no way to know if anyone would hear it until help arrived. _If it arrived. If Bruce could even find a means of getting an SOS off into space..._

He squelched that thought. He had to think positive. Bruce had enough pessimism for the both of them. Clark closed his eyes. Had they really only been here a day? It felt like longer. He leaned back against the stone wall and thought back.

* * *

 _Earlier_

He’d been attending the ribbon-cutting ceremony of the new Gotham Museum of Aerospace Engineering, more as a favor to Bruce than anything. The Gotham City council had wanted someone high-profile with a connection to space travel to do the honors, and although Bruce had tried to sound nonchalant when he’d broached the subject, Clark hadn’t missed the relief in his friend’s voice when he’d agreed. 

“You should know,” Bruce told him then, “there’s been some activity at LexCorp’s Gotham offices. It could be legit, I suppose, but keep your eyes open.” 

“Thanks for the warning. You too.” 

“ _I_ always do.” 

Clark had rolled his eyes, but he’d been smiling when he’d hung up the phone. Bruce had sounded downright insulted.

* * *

He should have realized from the start that Bruce wouldn’t just “invite” him to Gotham if something serious wasn’t going on. Batman never asked for help, he just made sure to put you in a position where you’d see the situation and react accordingly. “Some activity at LexCorp,” could have meant anything from biochemical warfare to kryptonite-plated attackbots, but Bruce wouldn’t have bothered mentioning anything if it were only the latest generation of smart phone. 

Luthor had waited until the ribbon had been cut and Superman was smiling for the cameras before he’d raised a small black box that rather resembled an old-fashioned Companion camera, pointed it in Superman’s direction, and pressed a button. 

Superman had registered the flash of light—far too bright for a camera flash, and too unnecessary for such a sunny day—and then, almost immediately, a change in air pressure and a low, pulsing vibration that set his teeth on edge. There’d been something familiar about the sensations, but in the instant it had taken him to realize where he’d experienced them before, he’d been seized by a mighty blast of air and dragged aloft, cape tightening against his throat, jerking him ever higher. 

A cable snaked out and caught his ankle, as Bruce—Batman, now (and just how had he managed to change into costume so quickly?)—yelled, “Superman! Watch out! It’s a…” 

_…Boom Tube!_ He’d finished mentally. But before he could begin to wonder why it was pulling him toward it with such force, and why it seemed to be impacting him alone, but having no apparent effect on the rest of the crowd, nor on buildings, cars, or trees, he was nearly a half-mile up in the air. And then, he was falling through the portal—along with the bat-line around his boot—and a cowled vigilante, who was clinging to the other end of the cable for dear life.

* * *

The next sensation that he became aware of was cold—not the force of an air current, or the sensation of snow on his face—but an icy, shocking, numbing cold, the likes of which he’d rarely experienced. Even when he flew through space, his invulnerability generally protected him from absolute-zero temperatures, so long as he kept away from stray kryptonite meteors… and red suns! He gasped and immediately began to sputter, as he inhaled water and tasted salt. He kicked upwards and felt himself rising to the surface. Through stinging eyes, blurry with saline-induced tears, he caught a glimpse of a brilliant red ball in an indigo sky. Then he saw another wave coming toward him and he breathed in a lungful of air, closed his eyes and braced. 

When the wave passed, he took a look around. His vision was still blurred, but he thought he could make out a shoreline and trees, maybe about 200 yards away. Even with the red sun above neutralizing his powers, and the cold sapping his strength, he was fairly sure he could make it. He should get rid of his cape though, he realized. And his boots. 

He started to kick one off, when his foot found a coil of something thick and heavy and he remembered about the cable. But then… where was Bruce? 

He spied a darker shadow below the surface, like an inky fan… or a black cape! He took another breath and dove. 

He surfaced a moment later, holding a dazed Batman’s head above the water. Almost at once, Superman realized that they were in a worse situation. His own cape—while durable—was fairly lightweight. But Batman’s Kevlar-Nomex costume was more like body armor, and considerably heavier. For a moment, he debated trying to remove it, but reason won out. They were both losing body heat quickly in the frigid waters, and his fingers were likely too numb to even begin to try working the cape fastenings... not to mention that if there was one thing that could shock Bruce out of his stupor, it would be someone trying to remove his costume. And without his super-strength, with hypothermia a real and present threat, Superman wasn’t about to struggle with a half-drowned bat a couple of hundred yards out from shore. 

He wrapped his right arm about Batman’s waist, pulled him against his hip, and began a strong steady sidestroke toward land.

* * *

About a hundred yards away, he knew that he should have listened when Bruce had told him to try working out under simulated red sun conditions on the Watchtower. He wasn’t used to feeling pain or fatigue or bitter cold. As they drew closer to shore, his leg scraped something and there was a stinging sensation in his thigh. It startled him, not just because of the fiery needle of pain, but because he’d been sure that his limbs had become numb to the cold by now. He wasn’t thinking about swimming, just about moving closer and closer to the shore, Batman slumped next to him. A wave buoyed them up, carried them closer to their destination. Then another crashed behind them, washed over them. His boots touched ground. He felt wet sand under his cheek and warm sun on his face. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking slow deep breaths. An instant later, his eyes flew open. He couldn’t rest yet; not until he knew what kind of shape Batman was in. 

He turned his head and noted the rise and fall of his friend’s chest with a sigh of relief. Then his eyebrows drew together. Bruce was breathing all right, but rapidly, shallowly—which might mean hypothermia, but which could also mean that he was slipping into shock. 

Superman took stock of the situation. They were no longer on earth, and so far, they’d seen no signs of civilization. Even if they did find life, the odds of such life being intelligent, friendly, able to communicate with them, willing to help, and able to figure out how to administer medical treatment to a species they likely had never before encountered were miniscule. He set his jaw. For now, he’d have to assume they were on their own. 

He pulled off his cape. The fabric was drying quickly and was already only slightly damp. More importantly, it was able to conserve body heat—at least, the fact that he was wearing a costume made of the same fabric and not shivering seemed to prove that much. He smiled. Even if the suit wasn’t indestructible under this sun, it evidently had a few things going for it. 

He reached over and nudged his friend. “Batman?” he asked hoarsely. “Can you hear me?” 

Batman groaned. “Cold,” he muttered. “Why…?” 

“A dip in the ocean will do that,” Superman replied. He took in their surroundings. There was plenty of driftwood on the beach, and some of it was above the high water mark. Beyond the beach, he could see steep cliffs directly ahead, but there were also trees nearby. That probably meant (although one could never be completely sure on an alien world) that there was also a freshwater source. They could have been in worse shape than this. “Can you walk?” he asked. “If I support you?” 

Batman groaned once more. He struggled to rise, but his legs buckled almost immediately. “Moderate hyp’thermia,” he snarled weakly. “I… should be’ble t’move, but not… not…” he frowned. “Hafta go… slow.” With a thunderous expression that belied the slowness of his speech, he reached an arm toward Superman. “You have… shelter?” 

Superman draped Batman’s arm over one shoulder and rose to his knees. “Not yet,” he admitted. “I…” All at once he smiled. “There are caves,” he said slowly, gesturing toward the cliffs. “I can’t tell how deep they go, but there’s shelter… and enough wood to get a fire going.” Batman nodded. Then he frowned, as though there was something he wanted to ask, but couldn’t find the words. 

“Hang on,” Superman said. “Your costume’s going to slow you down. Plus, you’ve got to be soaked to the skin. Let me just…” he ignored Batman’s angry intake of breath as the black cape slid free. “We can go back for it later. Meanwhile,” he fumbled with his own fastenings, “borrow mine. It’s already dry.” 

“And vizhible.” Batman blinked. “Vishble,” he tried again. His frown deepened. “V…” 

Clark sighed. “Take the cape, Bruce. We can drag it through the mud later, if we have to.” 

For a moment, Superman wondered whether the red sun had given Bruce the heat vision it had stripped from him. Then Bruce lowered his eyes and offered no resistance as Superman carefully removed the top of the bat-suit, leaving Bruce in cowl, tights, and boots. When the red cape fell over his shoulders, Bruce wrapped it tightly around himself. “Fine!” he snapped, and for that moment, there was a hint of his usual testiness. Then he gasped and fell heavily against Superman’s shoulder.

* * *

It was taking forever to reach the cave. Superman was perspiring before they were halfway. Batman was stumbling along, and several times, it was only his arm around Superman’s shoulder that kept him upright. Superman glanced at his companion and didn’t like what he saw. Bruce was pale and there was a bluish tinge to his lips. “I thought your suit was insulated,” he said, trying to pull Bruce along. 

“’t is,” Bruce said. “But when I went…” he frowned, “…in,” his frown deepened and he sagged. 

“It’s okay. Keep going.” 

Bruce scowled and took another deliberate step. “When I… under,” he took another step, “under the… oshn… it came in. In the shoot.” 

“The ocean water got into your suit,” Clark translated. “We’ve got to get you into something dry and fast.” 

Bruce snorted. “Of coursh you… packed a shootcashe when Lussor fired that…” 

Superman’s eyes grew wide.”No,” he said slowly, “but I packed a suit!” He pulled the cape away over Bruce’s hiss of protest. “There’s a waterproof pouch,” he explained quickly. “It’s where I keep my regular clothes so I can change back if I need to be Clark in a hurry. Here,” he tossed Bruce a white button-down shirt and a blue double-breasted blazer. “Wear these for now; we can worry about the pants later.” He hadn’t missed Bruce’s stiff, sluggish movements. Better, he judged, to get Bruce half-dry now and let him change into the rest once he’d had a chance to warm up. 

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but he shrugged himself into the shirt. He needed Clark’s help with the jacket, though. 

“Okay?” 

Bruce picked up the cape again and re-draped it around his shoulders. “For now.” He hesitated. “How… fuzza?” 

“Huh?” 

Bruce shook his head. “Surry. How much… to go?” 

“Oh, how much farther?” He tried to measure the distance. “I think about another hundred yards. Can you manage?” 

Bruce sighed. “I… I don’t know. Hate to ask, but… can you take me? I mean… lift? Um… um…” he scowled, struggling to form—or find—the words. “…carry? Me?” 

“I don’t kn…” Superman considered. “I probably could… but I don’t know this terrain, and if I’m carrying you, I won’t be able to see where I’m going very well. And…" _And without his strength, he could still **lift** Bruce, but as far as **carrying** him went…_ “And I’ll probably need to stop to rest a few times.” 

Bruce blinked. “Clark… you fly.” 

He hadn’t noticed, Superman realized with dismay. Granted, Bruce hadn’t had much opportunity to take in their surroundings, but if he were in better shape, he would have scoped out their situation in a single glance. “Not here,” he sighed. “Wherever we are, that’s a red sun up there, and it’s not because it’s sunset. I won’t be doing any flying until we can leave this planet, Bruce. I’m sorry.” 

Bruce let that penetrate. Then, abruptly, he took another step forward. “Hunnerd yards?” he slurred. “Fine. Better keep… m-moving.”

The cave was mercifully, blessedly dry. Superman helped Bruce change into the dry pants, and then went back to the beach to gather driftwood to start a fire. Tomorrow, they could check out the trees, but now wasn’t a time for exploring. He returned to the cave with a capeload (Batman’s cape) of dry wood and tall grasses. 

When he returned, it was to find Bruce huddled where he’d left him, shivering under the cape. 

“T-t-took you l-long enough,” he greeted him. 

Despite appearances, Bruce’s chattering teeth were an improvement over his earlier slurred speech. Superman smiled. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a Bair Hugger blanket?” he asked. “Or a couple of hot water bottles?” 

Bruce shook his head. “T-too large for the belt. W-wait.” His eyes brightened. “The belt. F-fif compar’ment, right s-s-side. I have hand-warmers. They look l-like bean bags. G-g-good for ten hours. I have s-six. Also,” He removed his cowl and draped the red cape over his head, letting it hang like a burnoose. “The c-cowl is soft body Kevlar. Armor-pl-plated. W-we can fill it to the eye-slits and boil water.” He gestured toward the sandy cave floor where Clark had dumped the costume. “There are a c-couple of envelopes of hot chocolate in the s-s-sixth compartment. Oh.” His face fell. “No cups. Or fresh water.” 

Clark nodded seriously. “We can worry about that later. First things first. Do you have any matches, or should I dump this,” he indicated the load of driftwood, “outside and try to get it lit with my eyeglasses?” 

Once more, Bruce gestured toward the belt. “Lighter. Third compartment. Left hand side.” He looked up sharply. “You... h-h- _have_ t’light the fire outside. Without a wind current, the smoke…” 

“Right.” He remembered something. “Um… Bruce? Is it safe to handle your belt? When the Injustice League tried to get it open…” 

This time, when Bruce’s lips twitched, Clark was sure it wasn’t just due to his shivering. “Relax, Kent,” he said. It was getting easier to tune out the stammering. “I knew what I was walking into that time and t-took precautions. Or did you think I have time to disable a booby trap every time I reach for a batarang?” 

Clark shot him a surprised look. Then he picked up the belt, got the lighter and began arranging the driftwood outside near the mouth of the cave. There was a wind but, thankfully, it was blowing past the cave, rather than into it. He hoped that it wouldn’t change direction. “You mean you wanted to get captured? Why…?” 

“It kept them fixated on me, rather than on engaging the Justice League. And it kept Joker from doing something… random. Besides, I had to... to see f-firsthand if Luthor had managed to create a team, or just assemble a band of individuals.” 

“Ah.” He took the driftwood and arranged it in a ring, just outside the cave. Then he took the long grasses and laid them carefully in the center. Dry leaves would have been better, he knew, but that would have meant striking out for the trees. The grass lit easily enough, and he fed the blaze with the smallest pieces of driftwood first, then progressed to larger ones. Once he’d built the fire into a decent blaze, he went back into the cave to get Bruce. 

“Don’t suppose you brought weenies or marshmallows?” he teased. 

Somehow, Bruce’s glower seemed reassuring. They might be stranded on some godforsaken planet, powerless, with limited supplies, and no apparent way to call for help, but Bruce was still Bruce.

* * *

“Okay,” Clark said, as he tore open the packaging of the first hand warmer. “I guess you’ll need to lie down on your stomach for this. I mean…” 

Bruce rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t planning on putting them down my pants,” he snapped. He watched as Clark opened the remaining warmers and laid four of them on the ground in a neat row. 

“Speaking of pants,” Clark ventured, “are you sure mine are thick enough? Seeing as you’re going to be lying on the packs for a while.” 

“Your suit is wool?” He didn’t need to wait for Clark’s answer. He knew from the texture. “It’s fine.” He bent forward and carefully stretched out so that he was lying directly on top of the packs. He nodded. “I’m ready for the next two,” he said, spreading his arms. When using hot water bottles to treat hypothermia, both men knew that the critical areas to keep warm were the armpits and groin. Now, lying on four of the hand warmers, with another one tucked under each arm, he allowed himself a long sigh. 

“Better?” 

Bruce was silent for several long moments before he finally uttered a single syllable. 

Clark did a double take. “Excuse me?” 

Bruce sighed again. “I said… thanks. Without your powers, this… all of this… swimming to shore… with me, getting here, starting the fire… it must… _you_ must be exhausted.” 

Clark shrugged. “A bit, I guess,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Too tired to be hungry, anyway. How _are_ we for supplies, if it comes to that?” 

Bruce closed his eyes. “I have some ration bars. If we’re careful, if we use them sparingly, they should last us about a week. Also, I’ve a desalinator kit that can convert salt water to a high-energy survival drink. I’d recommend finding a freshwater source, though, since I’ve only got enough syrup for three gallons.” 

“I saw trees from the beach,” Clark said. “We can _hope_ that means that there’s drinking water nearby, and they aren’t some sort of giant seaweed. Of course, we have no way of knowing whether the local flora is safe to eat…” 

Bruce nodded. “There’s a short-term solution for that, at least. I have a handheld scanner that can run a full chemical and nutritional analysis on organic substances. It runs on a power cell and I charged it last night, which means that we have approximately 12 hours—12 _Earth_ hours—before the charge runs out. Fortunately, the battery only drains when the scanner is actually in use, so it’s still at full power.” 

“Good.” Clark looked at the darkening sky and frowned. Bruce sounded tired. And though it might be simple exhaustion… “Bruce, I…” he thought quickly, realizing that his next suggestion could easily be misinterpreted, “…the sun’s setting and we don’t know how long the nights are or how cold they’re going to be or,” he glanced at the pile of reserve driftwood and wondered if he’d gathered enough, “if the fire will last until morning, but as far as staying warm and conserving body heat—“ 

“I see.” Bruce let out a breath. “I suppose that huddling would be a reasonable precaution under the circumstances.” His lips twitched. “And it _is_ your cape.” 

“…And Jimmy isn’t here with a camera.” 

“Not. Funny… Kent.” He closed his eyes. “Wait until I’m a bit warmer. I’d prefer to be on my side for this. Which means getting off of the packs.” 

“No problem.” 

Less than an hour later, Bruce was shrugging off Clark’s attempts to help him undress.”I can do it myself,” he snapped, as he got out of his jacket and shirt. 

“Fine,” Clark sighed. Like Bruce, he was now stripped to the waist. He moved behind Bruce and stretched out alongside him. Then he did his best to arrange the clothing and capes over them both. “Comfortable?” he asked, as he brought his torso to Bruce’s back. 

“Don’t snore.”

* * *

Bruce knew intellectually that the normal Kryptonian body temperature was around three degrees higher than that of a human. Under many circumstances, three degrees represented a negligible difference. However, as the night wore on, it felt as though he had a furnace at his back. 

He was about to move away so that he could get some sleep, when he realized that sleeping now would bring its own set of problems. Besides, he’d slept for over twelve hours the night before, and while he’d grumbled when he’d awakened and realized that he’d fallen for Alfred’s sedatives-in-the-jasmine-tea trick _again_ , he was grateful now. With any luck, he’d be able to keep going for at least another day or two before he’d need to sleep again, and in two days, anything could happen. He might even be home…

* * *

When Clark awoke the next morning, Bruce was already up and back in Kevlar, his cape flowing behind him. The fire had gone out at some point during the night, and the bat-cowl now stood upside-down, its ears embedded in the sand, a short distance from the embers. 

“Breakfast is in the cowl,” Bruce said with a straight face. “A boot would hold more, but somehow, even if I sterilized it, the idea is…” 

“Disgusting,” Clark finished. “You got up early.” Bruce looked tired, but he seemed a good deal better than he had been a day ago. 

“You did most of the work yesterday. I thought it was my turn. There’s good news and bad.” 

“Okay…” 

Bruce reached into the cowl and pulled out a handful of something that looked like limp green tentacles. “I checked out the trees. There _is_ a stream nearby, but it’s saltwater.” 

Clark’s face fell. “I see.” 

“However,” Bruce said with a tight smile, “it seems that the trees—and they’re not really trees, they’re large succulents—are able to take that water and convert the salt to sugars. The moisture stored in their leaves,” he held up his handful, “is sweet. Try some.” 

Clark reached into the cowl and extracted a rubbery tendril, about four inches long. When he bit into it, he smiled. “It kind of tastes like a cross between a peach and a lychee, I think. So… sort of like banana “trees” are really giant herbs, these trees are… what? Giant aloes or something?” 

“Close enough,” Bruce nodded. “So, dehydration isn’t a factor. Malnutrition, however, will be if we can’t find some other food source. These leaves are rich in potassium, calcium, folic acid and Vitamin C. They’ve got trace elements of some of the B-vitamins too. However, they’re missing other essential nutrients. Protein. Iron. Vitamin A. And we’re going to need a minimal amount of fat in our diets—which these also lack.” 

“Still,” Clark said, reaching into the cowl again, “We can use your ration bars to supplement for a while. They’ll last us longer, now that we have something else. Okay. We aren’t in immediate danger of starvation or dehydration. And hopefully, we’ll have figured out some way off of this planet before malnourishment becomes a concern.” 

Bruce sighed. “Ever the optimist.” 

“Does it bother you?” 

Bruce was silent for a long time. “No… it’s actually something I’ve gotten used to.”

* * *

After they’d eaten and gathered more firewood, they went back into the cave, where Bruce carefully brought out the contents of his utility belt. 

“Is this everything?” Clark asked. 

“Almost. The Kryptonite is in a lead-lined compartment. I didn’t think it necessary to add it to the pile…” 

He didn’t actually _say_ ‘yet,’ but something told Clark that he was itching to. “I appreciate that,” he said lightly. “Okay. Let’s see. The batarangs can double as knives. The comm-link…?” 

Bruce shook his head. “Out of range. It might be possible to tinker with it, I suppose, but that’s usually something I’d do back the ca...” He caught himself. They were in a cave right now. “…back at _my_ cave, I should say.” 

“Understood. Smoke pellets, flares, lighter… ration bars, desalination kit, bandages, pain-killers,” he raised an eyebrow. “ _Caffeine_ pills?” 

“If I get tired, do you think I can interrupt patrol to walk into a Sundollars without panicking the clientele?” He’d tried that once and he’d been carrying the pills ever since. 

“Point taken. C-4,” he turned to Bruce once more. “Seriously?” 

“It comes in handy sometimes. It never hurts to be prepared.” 

“And you call _me_ a boy scout.” He rolled his eyes and went back to taking inventory. 

“Straight screwdriver,” he continued, “pocket knife, flashlight, extra batteries…” He looked up. “You kept the signal watch?” 

Bruce sighed. “I don’t discard sensible precautions. Not even when they fail the first time I use them.” 

Clark winced. “If J’onn hadn’t been trying to make contact… If I’d realized sooner that he was trying to make contact...“ 

Bruce held up a hand. “Save it. I’m used to working without backup. It’s not like I was depending on you.” He turned aside, but not before Clark saw the hurt in his eyes that belied the nonchalance of his tone. 

“Bruce, I…” 

“I’ve let people down too, Kent, and for worse reasons. Don’t you think I know that?” he snapped. He took a deep breath. “I’m going for a walk.” 

Clark waited until Bruce was nearly to the entrance of the cave. “We haven’t had a chance to explore the area. We don’t know what’s out there.” 

Bruce gave an exasperated snarl and turned back. “Need I remind you that I was up foraging at the crack of dawn?” 

“And if you’d woken me up, I would have gone with you!” 

“I work alone, Kent!” It came out more harshly than he’d intended. 

“Bruce?” 

Bruce closed his eyes. “Sorry,” he said in a softer tone. “It’s been a rough… I don’t like being in unfamiliar territory. I need to do some reconnaissance, and I can’t do it with you asking questions or… or hovering over me.” 

Clark nodded his understanding. “Guess it’s hard to come up with five contingency plans if you don’t know the situation. Still, considering what we both went through yesterday, maybe we should just take it easy for a bit. You still look pretty tired.” 

“I’m fine,” Bruce said, with considerably less heat. “Don’t worry.” He reached into the pile that Clark had been examining. “If I’m in trouble,” he held up the watch, “I’ll signal you. Maybe this time, you’ll show up.” 

Clark nodded with a half-smile. Two minutes later, he was running out of the cave. “Bruce! Without my super-hearing…” 

He blinked. There was no sign of Bruce. “…I won’t be able to hear the distress call,” he whispered.

* * *

 _Now_

Clark leaned against the cave wall and tried once more not to worry. 

Going by the position of the sun, he judged that it had been about a quarter of the day since Bruce had left—obviously avoiding the beach, since the only tracks in the sand were the ones they’d left yesterday, making their trek from the ocean. He tried not to worry. After all, Bruce had proven on multiple occasions that he was more than capable of holding his own against most threats. Plus, he’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want backup. He was probably fine. Even though he’d forgotten that the watch was useless here. Even though he’d nearly died yesterday and seemed intent on overexerting himself today. 

Even though he’d left his utility belt and its contents behind... 

Clark set his jaw. If Bruce wasn’t back by the time the sun was directly overhead, he was going to go looking for him and hope he wasn’t at the bottom of some ravine, or savaged by some predator, or poisoned by some berry that his scanner—which Clark wasn’t sure he’d even taken—had erroneously told him was safe. He glanced back at the pile of equipment. So Bruce _had_ taken it. 

A soft sound made him turn around. Bruce was coming from the opposite direction. He had something large and unwieldy wrapped in his cape and slung over his back and he was perspiring heavily. He continued walking, boots crunching on the gravelly soil until he reached the cave. “Our nutritional issues have come a bit closer to being resolved,” he announced, hefting his cape forward and lowering it to the cave floor. A pile of variegated mollusks about twice the size of oysters spilled out. “They’re probably safer than their Earth-analogs,” he said. “No chemical pollutants in the water, no trace of Vibrio... I still wouldn’t try storing them long-term. 

This...” he held up a red branch whose shape reminded Clark of bronchial tubes, “...needs to be cooked first.” 

“What is it?” Clark asked, reaching for one. “Some sort of seaweed?” 

“Its nutritional profile is fairly close to spirulina,” Bruce said with a tight smile. 

Clark frowned. “I know that’s a kind of seaweed, but refresh my memory?” 

Bruce’s smile broadened. “It’s a nutritional powerhouse, Kent. Protein, iron,” he passed the scanner over, “Vitamin A, zinc...” 

Clark let out a low whistle. “Are we missing anything?” 

Bruce sighed “Unfortunately. It’ll be a few months before we have a real cause for concern, but there are some trace minerals for which I haven’t found a source yet.” 

“Still...” He frowned. Bruce looked exhausted. “How are you doing?” 

“I’m fine,” Bruce said, stifling a yawn. “I’m just going to meditate for a bit. And then,” he flashed Clark another tight smile, “I’m going to see if there’s any way to reconfigure your signal watch.” 

Clark blinked. “You have an idea?” 

“Well,” Bruce said softly, “the Green Lantern Corps _does_ patrol the entire galaxy. If there’s some way to contact the Lantern for this sector...” 

“How?” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “By sending out a message they won’t be able to ignore.”

* * *

He couldn’t understand why Bruce was being this stubborn over something this silly. “I don’t mind keeping sentry duty for the first part of the night,” he repeated for the third time. “You’ve...” 

“...been up since dawn, yes, I’m aware of that,” Bruce interrupted. “Particularly, since you keep reminding me.” 

“Then...” 

Bruce inhaled through his teeth and blew the air out. “I’m used to going without sleep. I’ve trained myself to withstand fatigue. You, on the other hand, are used to your super-strength and your super-endurance and your super...” 

“Now just hold on,” Clark cut him off, stung. “You’re right that I’m used to having my powers carry me through but that doesn’t mean you have to take everything onto your own shoulders. I can still carry my own weight.” 

“I haven’t seen anything to indicate that you’re capable of doing so, thus far,” Bruce retorted. 

Despite himself, Clark felt his own temper rising. “Okay, now that’s unfair,” he shot back. “Have you given me an opportunity? Bruce... what’s with you?” 

“ _Nothing_ is ‘with’ me,” Bruce snarled. “I know my own capabilities and my own level of endurance. I don’t know yours. Not now. And I’ll be damned if I’ll trust you to have my back when I don’t know if it’s currently within your abilities.” 

“Well, give me a chance. The same one we ga...“ He stopped. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” he asked. “Your early days with the League, having to prove yourself all over again... So, now that the shoe’s on the other foot... What? You’re giving me a taste of what you had to go through?” 

Bruce’s eyes grew wide. “No. That’s not...“ His angry reply died on his lips. His shoulders slumped. “Or maybe it is. In which case, I apologize. You didn’t doubt me.” He hesitated. “Though I wondered whether you might have, when you gave me the watch.” 

“Not exactly,” Clark said. “You said it yourself, just a little while ago. You don’t like being in unfamiliar territory. And I know you prefer to work alone. The watch was just... to give you an option, while you were in the Metropolis area. In case you decided that having someone around who knew the turf trumped your usual preferences.” He turned away. “I... know what it probably cost you to use it and I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time.” 

There was a long silence. Then a boot scuffed behind him, a hand came down on his shoulder, and a quiet voice said, “You got there in time. We’re having this conversation, aren’t we?” A note of steel crept back into his voice. “And I’m taking first watch.” 

“Bruce...” 

Bruce dangled a small foil blister packet before him. “I have the caffeine pills, remember?” 

“Yeah, but no fresh water until we can figure out a way to mash and strain those aloes. What are you going to do—dry swallow them?” 

“They’re chewable.” 

“Fine,” Clark sighed, defeated. “Just... wake me if they’re not enough.”

* * *

Two hours later, Bruce sat cross-legged on the ground, weighing the foil pack in his hand. He was tired, but he only had eight pills with him, and he might have a greater need for them down the road. Besides, now that he wasn’t moving, he could probably stay alert for a bit longer before he’d need to make a decision. Wake Clark or take the pills. Wake Clark or take the pills. Wake Clark or... He stared into the flickering flames as though they might hold the answer for him. He should probably put some more driftwood on, but it felt so good to just relax after a day spent hiking and gathering. In just a minute he would...

* * *

It was the moaning that woke Clark, though he didn’t realize it at first. He knew that something had jolted him out of a sound sleep, and he felt about for the alarm clock before he realized that he wasn’t lying in bed and there wasn’t even a night-table by his side, let alone a clock. His eyes flew open and he remembered the situation. “Bruce?” 

Bruce was still leaning against the outside of the cave, but his eyes were closed and he was rocking from side to side. “No!” he was mumbling. “Not the alley. Not... FATHER!!!” 

Clark winced. When he’d discovered Batman’s identity, he’d subsequently checked the newspaper archives to try to figure out what could have motivated him to turn vigilante. At the time of the Wayne murders, every major news agency in the country had reported on the story. It wasn’t hard for Clark to figure out what Bruce was dreaming about. Of course, if he woke up now, Bruce would be mortified to discover that... Clark’s jaw set. That was why Bruce had been so determined not to sleep! And he must have been up early because he hadn’t slept at all last night either. Being stranded out here had to be awakening thoughts of another time when he’d been alone and vulnerable. Only he wasn’t alone. 

Clark knew that he could turn away, pretend that he’d never woken up, and let Bruce keep his dignity. 

“No! Father, let him have the pearls! It’s not worth it! Mother! Father! Noooo!” 

He closed his eyes. Then he shook his head slowly. It would have been one thing if he really _had_ slept through this, but now that he was up, there was no way that he could leave Bruce to suffer. He rose, taking care to make a bit more noise than he strictly needed to. Bruce was probably a light sleeper. Maybe this would be enough. 

“Bruce,” he called softly, trying to sound sleepy, “isn’t it time for my watch, yet?” 

There was a long silence. Then, “I suppose it is.” 

Clark came forward. “I thought you were going to wake me.” 

Bruce touched his hands to his cheeks, felt the traces of moisture, and lowered his head. “I think I did,” he said, in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper. 

Clark drew closer. “Yes. But since I needed to get up anyway, it’s not a big deal.” 

Bruce was silent. 

“Bruce,” Clark sighed, “Please. Tell me you’re not embarrassed over a dream. You think you’re the only person to have nightmares every once in a while?” 

Bruce flinched and seemed to shrink even further into his cape. 

_Now what?_ Clark wondered. Then it hit him. How had Bruce been so sure that he’d have a nightmare tonight, unless... “Bruce? Just how often do you have that dream?” 

For a moment, Clark thought he wasn’t going to get an answer, but then Bruce sighed. “I can usually go three days without sleep, but I think the gravity here is slightly higher than Earth-normal, and it’s putting more of a strain on me.” 

“That wasn’t what I—” Clark broke off, stunned. “Every time you sleep?” 

“Occasionally, if I push myself to exhaustion, I can avoid it. Apparently, tonight wasn’t one of those occasions.” He sighed again. “Don’t be concerned, Kent. I’m used to it.” 

“ _That’s_ what concerns me. Did you ever try talking to anyone about it?” 

Bruce snorted. “You mean a shrink? The last time I tried spilling my guts, Hugo Strange nearly sold me—and my secrets—to the highest bidder. Excuse me if being open about my sore spots doesn’t hold that much appeal.” He looked up. “I suppose this is the point where you magnanimously say I can talk to you, correct?” 

The truth was, he’d been about to say something very much along those lines. “Sure,” he replied. “I mean, if you want to. But if you’d rather not, I understand.” 

Bruce muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “Yeah, right.” 

Clark sighed, turned to the pile of driftwood, and added some more pieces to the fire. Then he sat down next to Bruce. “Look, regardless of what I think about your sleep patterns, I’ve seen how you handle things in Gotham and with the League, not to mention here. Obviously, the dreams aren’t slowing you down. I’m just... sorry you have to deal with them and if there is something I can do to help...” 

“There isn’t,” Bruce said, but he didn’t sound angry, so much as he did resigned. “I just...” A shadow passed over his face and he seemed to shrink into the rock. “The anniversary of their deaths is next month. I think it just hit me that, for the first time in over a decade, I... might not be able to visit them.” 

Clark nodded slowly. Then, deliberately, he reached over and placed an arm around Bruce’s shoulders. “I know what that’s like,” he said softly. “I’d be lying if I told you that there weren’t times when I’ve wished I had... some place I could visit. Or some date I could commemorate.” 

Bruce flinched as if he’d been struck. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips tightly together as he inhaled sharply. A single tear forced its way past his eyelids. Then another. His shoulders heaved. “Go,” he whispered raggedly. “J-just go.” 

He hesitated for a moment, torn by indecision. Then he gave Bruce’s shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze. “Okay,” he said. “But if you should change your mind...” 

That was when Bruce slumped forward. At the same time, he shifted marginally toward Clark. 

Clark nodded to himself and pulled Bruce in closer. Actions always did speak louder than words. 

And for a few moments, the crackling of the fire was drowned out by the sounds of muffled sobs. 

When Bruce thought he could trust his voice again, he turned weary eyes to his companion. “You had to keep pushing, Kent,” he said, shaking himself loose. 

“If it makes a difference, I would have pushed no matter who it was. I mean...” He cast about, trying to find the right words, the words that would make it clear—without sounding patronizing—that he wasn’t lending a shoulder because he thought that Bruce couldn’t cope, but because it pained him that Bruce _had_ to. 

“I know.” 

Clark smiled. And then, more to reassure himself than to reassure Bruce, he added, “we’re going to get back home.” 

“I know that too,” Bruce said. His tone lightened. “Before I... nodded off, I believe I figured out how to combine that watch of yours with our communicators to transmit a voice message instead of a distress call. It’s just a question of finding a frequency that the Corps is likely to pick up—since I doubt we’re in range of the Watchtower.” 

“Do you have to limit it to a single frequency?” 

Bruce shook his head. “No, but each attempt will put an additional drain on the power cell.” 

Clark grinned. “It only has to be a short message...

* * *

 _Watchtower, Three weeks later..._

“This is Kho Kharhi, Green Lantern for Sector 442,” the holographic image said in a deep, melodious tone. “You are John Stewart of Earth?” 

“I am.” 

The squat Khundian woman smiled. “Then I have a direct communication for you, originating from a planet in my sector.” 

Stewart’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a long way from here,” he said mildly. “What’s the message?” 

“That _is_ the message,” she replied somewhat testily. “Forgive me. Hear for yourself.” 

A moment later, a broad grin creased Stewart’s face as a familiar voice intoned, “ _...Calling John Stewart, Green Lantern for Earth. Calling John Stewart, Green Lantern for Earth._ ” 

“Shayera!” he called, racing for the lift, “J’onn! Flash! Diana! We’ve found them!

* * *

“Are we ever glad to see you!” Flash burst out, almost as soon as he was out of the shuttle. 

“The feeling is mutual,” Superman returned. 

“I see my message reached you,” Batman said, as calmly as if he’d sent it from Gotham instead of some remote planet whose name he still didn’t know. 

“Yes,” John replied, “once Kho figured out where Earth was. Next time, try specifying Sector 2814. Think of it like a galactic postal code.” 

Batman favored him with a hard look. “Next time?” 

He filed the fact away anyway, hoping he’d never need it. 

“Luthor opened a Boom Tube,” Superman said. “That’s how we ended up here. No idea how he got his hands on it...” 

“Darkseid,” Wonder Woman replied. “He provided the technology and rigged it so that it would lock onto Kryptonian DNA. Luthor said he didn’t know where he’d sent you and he didn’t care, but that Darkseid had promised him you’d never pose a threat to him again.” 

“Luckily, he couldn’t figure out the technology for himself,” Hawkgirl continued. “We destroyed his prototype and he’s cooling his heels in prison right now.” 

“Good.” 

J’onn was examining the plant samples with interest. “I wonder whether we could take some cuttings for cultivation,” he remarked. 

“I can show you where they grow if you can wait a little,” Batman nodded. “It shouldn’t take us long to strike down the camp.” 

“Wow, I can’t believe it,” Flash was saying. “It’s almost like _Gilligan’s Island_. Only just two of you. Gilligan and the Skipper! Or... Should that be Gilligan and the Professor? Or Gilligan and Mr. Howell? How about...” 

Bruce rolled his eyes, but it was more out of habit than irritation. “As long as it’s not Ginger and Mary Ann,” he muttered in a voice that carried no further than Superman’s ears. 

Clark laughed. “We’d better go clear our things out of the cave...” he gave Bruce an evil smile. “Little Buddy.” 

Bruce opened his mouth to remind him that if either of them was to be cast as Gilligan in Flash’s scenario, Clark was the likelier candidate, but the Kryptonian was already several paces ahead of him. He sighed. Then, with a rueful smile, he hurried to catch up. Let Clark have the last word for once. They were going home!


End file.
